


Gymnophoria

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Pre-Advent Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the tumblr word prompt: "Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gymnophoria

Reno has never liked the way that suits fit. He likes suits themselves – the way that they bring fear to the eyes of civilians – but then wearing them day in and day out seemed like he was dressing for eulogy years in advance.

Rude said to him, one day: “Ever think… Life without suits?”

He was referring to the world after Meteor, but Reno had grinned.

“Sure. Think about it a lot.”

Rude licked his lips; answered, “Yeah?”

The world after fire was a carnivorous time.

= = =

Tifa tells Reno that his suit jacket isn’t the right fit. She says that the shoulders pull a little too much.

Thing is, Reno will never admit that it’s because he’s hand-washed the damn thing for two years.

He’d never admit that it’s his last one.

Her eyes undress him. It’s been a while, it seems, since Strife was driven mad with lust. The truth is, Reno can’t ever see Cloud Strife doing anything except remembering the past, like a wanderer devoid of any timeline to stop him.

But lust is something Reno knows. Lust is what is in his partner’s eyes, when he says, “Reno, Tifa’s right. It doesn’t fit anymore.”

No, it doesn’t.

It doesn’t at all, because Reno hasn’t smiled this shark toothed smile since those few good days under the plate – fumbling frenzy in a bar’s backroom.

Tifa kissing Rude, with Rude’s hand between Reno’s legs, and Tifa decides that maybe – oh fuck it – suits and ties and shirts are way too overrated, just like uniforms and identities. And they all end up in a pile of nothing except skin.

Nothing except skin as they kiss, awkwardly and sloppily, and devoid of ill fitting clothes.


End file.
